


October 14: “Some people call this wisdom.”

by Qophia



Series: Qoph's Fictober 2018 [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Humor, Cadash-Centric, Dragon Age: Inquisition - Trespasser DLC, Ficlet, Fictober, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, and solas gets talked about a lot, brief cameos from cassandra and cole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 11:43:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16304561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qophia/pseuds/Qophia
Summary: “Dorian, I fucked up. Stone below, I fucked upso bad.”





	October 14: “Some people call this wisdom.”

_“What if you wake up to find the future you shape is worse than what was?”_

_“I'll kick up my feet a minute, figure out where I fucked up, and then dive in again.”_

_“Just like that.”_

_“Look, Solas, sometimes the only way to get through a thing is to be that stubborn bastard who keep pushing.”_

_“You're right. Thank you.”_

_“What for?”_

_“You have offered hope... that if one keeps trying, even if the consequences are grave, that someday things_ will _be better._ _”_

* * *

Dorian had resigned himself to pacing in front of the mirror that had abruptly and stubbornly refused to be more than just a mirror, regardless of how he pounded on it, when the surface finally rippled once more and Cadash fell through. Dorian was barely able to whirl and catch the dwarf before he hit the dais face-first. Edric’s hand clamped to the front of Dorian’s robes, pulling their faces together.

“Amatus, _what_ —”

“Dorian, I fucked up. Stone below, I fucked up _so bad_.” Edric was panting near-hysterically, and his grip didn’t loosen when Dorian pressed a kiss to his forehead that was more frantic than soothing.

A clatter of boots on stone heralded Cassandra’s arrival from across the field. “Inquisitor, are you— _Maker_ , your _arm!_ ”

Only then did Dorian glance down at the hand that wasn’t clutching at him, the hand with the anchor, the hand that wasn’t... That wasn’t. The hand that _wasn_ _’t_. “Amatus,” he tried again, “what _happened_?”

“Weakened, wasting, wounded—he waited to wrench his weapon from the unworthy. But that _isn_ _’t_ how he thinks of you—he’s not that kind of wolf!”

“ _Yes_ ,” Dorian snapped, “this is _entirely_ the best time for that, thank you, Cole. Edric, amatus, what...” But he let the question go as the strain on his robes loosened and Edric passed out. Dorian gathered him in his arms and stood as quickly as he dared, channeling a spell to augment his strength and speed. “Back to the Winter Palace— _now_.”

* * *

Dorian awoke to the feeling of fingers carding slowly through his hair, his body uncomfortably contorted and his face pressed against a wad of what was probably a very expensive bedspread. His cheek was also unpleasantly damp, and he raised a hand to surreptitiously wipe away drool as he lifted his head. “You know,” he sighed dramatically, “we really must stop meeting like—. Oh.”

Edric Cadash was crying, and he clearly had been for some time.

“I will warn you,” Dorian said, his voice breaking slightly, “I am coming up there right now unless you tell me I’m not allowed.”

Edric shrugged.

Dorian rolled onto the bed, pulled himself up to where Edric sat against the headboard, and wrapped his two good arms around the man he loved. The dwarf burrowed into him, what remained of his left arm tucked in the warmth between their chests.

“I fucked up so bad,” Edric croaked, barely above a whisper.

“Tell me about it, love, please? I assume Solas did... something, with the anchor, but beyond that...”

“He’s... Ugh.” Edric let go for a moment to reach up and scrub at his eyes. “I didn’t want to freak you out, because things were already bad enough with the hand. But when we were running around, I... may have started keeping certain... things to myself. Things we came across, scraps of notes, some of those weird books in that busted-up library. I started having a really stupid idea, and either it was a distraction or it was terrifying, and either way I didn’t see how it could help to drag you into it, too. You... remember that mural from the Darvaarad?”

“The one in the same style as Solas used for his frescoes? Of course.”

“The Ben-Hassrath’s note on it speculated it was a self-portrait of Fen’Harel. That’s what clinched it, in the end. To the, you know, the terrifying option.”

“Ah, yes,” Dorian joked, “you were saving us from the horrible truth that Solas was in reality the ancient Dalish god of betrayal.”

Edric was silent. The blood drained from Dorian's face as the floor dropped out from under his stomach.

“... You were saving us from the horrible truth that Solas was in reality the ancient Dalish god of betrayal.”

A small nod against his chest.

“Solas.”

Nod.

“Ancient Dalish god.”

Nod. “... Well,” Edric temporized, “... more or less.”

Dorian swallowed with a throat suddenly gone unbelievably dry. “How much... less?”

“Ancient, yes. Dalish, no. God and betrayer, debatable.”

“Oh, well,” Dorian laughed, high and a bit wild. “ _Debatably_ a god—I suppose that’s some comfort.”

“He told me the old elven gods were leaders who went mad with power, and he’d tried to stop them after they murdered Mythal, like those Sentinels at the temple mentioned. He... raised the Veil to do it.”

“He _created_ the Veil?” Dorian whispered, then went pale again. “Maker’s breath... I _argued with him_ about Veil harmodynamics.” He took a deep breath, held it, and narrowed his eyes. “A fair amount of condescension has suddenly become surprisingly understandable.”

Edric patted him on the shoulder. “You’re very smart, dear. For a human, leastways.”

“Yes, thank you, that’s quite enough of that. Please consider me thoroughly comforted. Which—look at me, playing the peacock. This is supposed to be about you." Dorian sighed, tightening his arms around Edric. "You didn’t fuck up, you know, not sharing the theory. Even had all four of us been together—or more, if we hadn’t been so concerned about guarding the Exalted Council—we couldn’t have stopped Solas there.”

“No, that not—I mean, it is, a bit, but it’s not the fuckup. Not the big one. It’s—. Okay. Shit. The orb? It was his. Solas started all of this by giving it to Corypheus—”

“He _what_?”

“Yeah, I know. Believe me, I know. Blah blah, too weak to use it himself after millennia of angry napping, blah blah, didn’t know Cory had an immortality trick that would keep him ticking past unlocking it, blah blah. Now, the good news is that it meant Solas was able to pull the mark out before it killed me, as it was apparently about to do. Which I know you will find _absolutely devastatingly_ shocking, given what a paragon of health I was at the council.”

Dorian rubbed Edric’s back and buried his nose in his hair, taking a deep breath. “I hesitate to ask, but...”

“The bad news is that he was going to use the mark to tear down the Veil and burn our world to rebuild his,” Casash flicked fingers vaguely in the air, “somehow. He wouldn’t give me details, which I’m _pretty_ sure is incredibly gauche when you’re about to steal someone’s arm. I’ll double-check with Vivienne on the exact etiquette later.”

“You will have to forgive me, amatus, but I am still not following how any of this is your mistake, versus a monument to Solas’s apparently towering hubris.”

“Yeah, well... Now he’s got the creepy petrifying power—which he does with his _eyes_ , by the way, did I mention that?— _and_ the mark, _and_ a new plan that’s probably going to kill us all. And I... Shit.” Edric thumped his face into Dorian’s chest. “I... encouraged him. I told him to do it.”

“You... instructed an ancient demigod to bring about the end of the world?”

“Yes?! Kind of?! There was that... You remember that depressing chit-chat I told you about, right before I kicked Cory’s ass for the last time? The one where Solas was all, ‘What if the future is worse,’ and I was all, ‘Whatever, fuck it, sometimes you gotta just power through until it works out’?”

“Vaguely.”

“Dorian! I told _the asshole who_ _’s going to burn the world down_ to _keep going until it works!_ He _thanked_ me!”

Dorian brushed a thumb just under the tattoo that barred Edric’s eyes, wiping at the track of a frustrated tear that had spilled over again. “You have to admit, amatus, in the overwhelming majority of scenarios it’s not actually horrendous advice, and it does rather pithily reflect your own modus operandi. Moreover, the next time you’re having a suspiciously abstract tête-à-tête with a fatalistic apostate, you now know better than to encourage him in his covert cataclysmic scheme. Some people would call that wisdom,” he said, then sniffed dismissively. “Not me, but some people.”

Edric shuddered a sigh against him that was almost a chuckle. Not quite, but almost.

“You need to tell me, though,” Dorian began, hesitantly. “And be absolutely, brutally honest. You cannot spare me this. How...” Dorian paused dramatically, his eyes sparkling as his mustache trembled. “How was Solas dressed?”

Edric pulled back to stare at Dorian a long few seconds before a laugh wrenched out of him. He lowered his forehead to Dorian’s shoulder, and for a moment the mage thought there would be no answer at all. But finally Edric spoke. “His knees has little faces on them.”

“His knees... had faces.”

“Yeah. On the armor. Molded in, like.”

“Face-knee armor. You got to play catch-up with an ancient demigod, and you decided to spend the time... observing his knees?”

“Look, I’m closer to the ground, I notice these things.”

“Well.” Dorian sighed and raised a hand to rub the back of Edric's neck as he finally relaxed against him. “At least you’ve got your priorities in order.”

**Author's Note:**

> "harmodynamics" is a word now, you're welcome
> 
> also, i've created a sub-series specifically for these cadash stories, since people seem to like them, so be sure to check out & subscribe to [Edric Cadash's Fictober Shenanigans](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1160879) if this ridiculous rogue tickles your fancy like he tickles mine


End file.
